My face is rude and my speech harsh, and I am damnably prosaic.

I have not Ringan's fancy, or Grey's gallantry; I am sober and tongue-tied and uncouth, and my mind runs terribly on facts and figures.

O Elspeth, I know I am no hero of romance, but a plain body whom Fate has forced into a month of wildness.

I shall go back to Virginia, and be set once more at my accompts and ladings.

Think well, my dear, for I will have nothing less than all.